


Life in the Ever After

by zelda_zee



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This new life of theirs isn’t anything like Romo had imagined it would be</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life in the Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://cynthia-arrow.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cynthia-arrow.livejournal.com/)**cynthia_arrow** for betaing.

Camp fires dot the valley, people in small groups gathered around them; a few are on their own, not far from their fellows but preferring solitude. After so many years all packed together like sardines, Romo can relate.

But – somewhat to his own surprise – he’s not one of them. He’s looking for someone.

Lee will be on his own, Romo thinks, because the people he loved most are gone and he won’t want anyone else’s company. That probably means he won’t want Romo’s company either, but nonetheless, he intends to offer it.

It takes a couple of hours of going from fire to fire, the dog trotting faithfully at his heels, but he finds Lee alone as he predicted, nestled under a huge rocky overhang that abuts the hill that rises up at the nearest end of the valley. As soon as Romo spots the small, lone fire so perfectly situated to watch over them, he knows he’ll find Lee beside it.

Lee’s sitting on his bedroll, leaning back against a rock. He watches Romo approach, seemingly unalarmed at an unknown personage arriving in the dark of night, but Romo guesses that between the coat and the dog, he’s hard to mistake for a stranger.

“I was wondering,” Romo says, out of breath from climbing the hill to Lee’s position, “if you might want to help me polish off what may well be the last bottle of grain alcohol in the universe.”

He pulls the bottle out of the pocket of his coat and Lee smiles widely, gestures to the space on the ground beside him.

“The last for _now_ ,” Lee says. “How long do you think it’ll be before someone figures out what there is around here that can be made into booze?”

“With this crew?” Romo unscrews the cap and hands the bottle to Lee. “I give it days.”

*

“What’s his name?” Lee asks. His eyes are heavy, but he’s not slurring his words. Romo knows from experience that Lee can hold his liquor almost as well as he himself can.

Romo looks at him quizzically and Lee nods toward the dog. “The dog. I never knew what you named him.”

“His name is Jake,” Romo says.

Jake has perked up, pleased at the attention, watching them with bright, interested eyes. He reminds Romo a bit of Lee.

Lee frowns, shaking his head. “Jake. That’s not much of a name. Really, Romo, that’s all you could come up with?”

“It’s a perfectly good name,” Romo insists. “He’s never seemed burdened by it.” He smirks. “I almost named him Apollo, which –”

“Oh, come _on_!” Lee protests.

“ _Which_ ,” Romo continues, “is an _excellent_ name for a dog. Sadly, he didn’t seem to like it much, so we went back to plain old Jake.”

Jake thumps his tail on the ground happily and Romo absentmindedly scratches behind his ears.

They sit in silence for some time, no sound but the crackling of the fire. The smell of wood smoke is indescribably good. Romo’s always liked it, but now, after living in a metal box for so long, it's a physical relief to breathe it in. When he closes his eyes and inhales, it feels like home. When he opens them again and gazes out at this strange new world, the feeling goes away.

He glances sideways at Lee and finds him watching the fire, his eyes suspiciously shining. “They’re gone,” he says. His voice is quiet, the quaver in it almost indiscernible. He says it like it's just a fact he's just learned, like he's trying out the sound of it on his tongue. “They’re all gone.”

“I know,” Romo says.

Lee takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “Okay.” He smooths his hands over his thighs, then leans over to get another stick to add to the fire. “Okay,” he whispers as he sets it on, sparks rising toward the stars. They both look up, watch the glowing embers fly skyward, then wink out against the blackness.

Romo remembers what it’s like, the realization that you’re alone, that your loved ones are gone forever. They all lived through it before. Lee was one of the lucky ones, then. He lost fewer than most of the rest of them.

“It’ll get better,” he says. It’s not a lie. Not entirely.

“I shouldn’t –” Lee shakes his head. “It’s _good_ \- this, now. It’s good, right?” Romo doesn’t say anything. “So why do I feel… like this?”

Romo wants to tell him that it’s okay to feel sad, that it’s okay to mourn his father, and Roslin, and that crazy pilot girlfriend of his, his friends, the fleet, his job, his training, everything he'd been, everything he'd planned to be and do, their whole frakking way of life. He wants to tell Lee that he’s earned it, that if anyone deserves to be able to let go and just feel like shit for as long as they need to, it’s him.

But that’s not the kind of thing Romo can say, not even now, with alcohol pleasantly dulling his sharp edges. Instead he hands Lee the bottle, nearly empty.

“Finish it,” he says.

*

There are about a thousand of them altogether, the ones who decide to stay. They situate the village on the hill above the overhang where Lee built his fire that night. It’s a good location, with trees for shelter, a sweeping view, easy access to water and to the valley where they’ll farm.

“You’re staying?” Lee had asked him, obviously surprised.

“Where would I go?” Romo asks. “I’m not exactly cut out to rough it, you know. At least,” he sighs, looking around him at the wild land that they’re about to attempt to turn into some approximation of civilization, “not any more than I have to.” His eyes flick to Lee, then away. “I thought you might have it in mind to take off on your own.”

“Nah.” Lee shakes his head. “I’ve never really wanted to be alone that way. Anyway, I think I’ve traveled far enough. This seems like a good place to call home.” He looks around them, and Romo can tell he’s already seeing what’s next; the buildings they’ll construct, walkways and fences and crops planted.

It turns out they’re only about an hour’s walk from Helo and Sharon, and an hour more in the opposite direction from the spot where Baltar and his Six have the start of a tidy little farm. It’s no surprise to Romo that they didn’t go far. It’s not that easy to shed the need for interaction, for connection to your history. A “clean slate” sounds good when you’re making big plans, but if there’s anything that they’ve learned since the Fall, it’s that they need each other in order to survive.

Adama remains resolutely absent, but Romo hopes for Lee’s sake that someday he'll return. It's obvious that's why Lee stayed, settling near the place where he last saw his father. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, though if it did, that wouldn't be a problem.

It turns out, as Romo expected, that he’s completely ill-suited to living as a primitive. He’s got no useful skills. The work of clearing the land gives him blisters and sore muscles, and he’s not particularly good at keeping his complaints to himself. He’s not even a particularly likable guy, not good at getting along – never has been, never cared to be. It’s just, before, he was useful, and at times, he was necessary. A necessary evil, some would say, but he was a damned good lawyer – the best there was.

But Lee’s grandfather’s law books took the trip into the sun with the fleet, a loss that still hits Romo at odd times so profoundly that he’s almost ashamed of the force of it. With all they’ve lost, he knows mourning something as inconsequential as paper and ink is ridiculous. Sometimes though, when he’s feeling very low, he can’t help it.

There’s no need for lawyers in this new world they’re building. No need, gods be thanked, for litigation. That’s as it should be, Romo reminds himself. The fact that he’s an anachronism is a good thing.

*

They're sprawled beneath a huge, spreading shade tree overlooking the valley, as has become their custom during the stultifying heat of midday. Jake’s head is pillowed on Romo’s thigh and it’s too hot, but he doesn’t have the energy to shove him away.

“Be fruitful and multiply, isn’t that what the scriptures said?” Romo asks. “You and I aren’t fulfilling our quota, mate.”

Below them, making their way down the hill, is a couple, the woman obviously pregnant. Romo can’t remember her name. He should know it by now, but old habits die hard and the fact that he’s now living in what’s for all intents and purposes a commune hasn’t changed a lifetime’s worth of disregard for unimportant details.

“I guess not,” Lee agrees. “But I think that’s okay. There are plenty of others to do the job for us.”

“Don’t you want to pass on your DNA? Keep the resplendent Adama bloodline going? You’re the last hope.”

Lee shrugs. “Maybe, in time. I’m not in any hurry.”

“Maybe you should be,” Romo says. He's not sure why he doesn’t drop the subject. It’s a bit like worrying at a loose tooth. The pain is in some strange way satisfying. “You never know. Any night one of those beasts could sneak into camp and gobble you up.” Because, of course, it turns out that not only is the land replete with game, but also with the kinds of creatures that prey on it.

“I’ll take my chances.” Lee knocks him in the ankle with a bare, brown foot. “What about you?”

Romo snorts. “Not husband material, me. Or father material, for that matter.” _Not anymore_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say that. He figures Lee knows it anyway.

“One of these days you’re going to get tired of being alone,” Lee says. His voice is so carefully neutral that Romo can’t resist giving him a quizzical frown.

“I’m not alone,” he asserts. “I’ve got my dog and I’ve got you. That’s enough.” Lee turns to him, one eyebrow raised. “What?” Romo says defensively. “I see you every day, we sit here for hours. How much more not-alone could you get?”

It’s Lee’s turn to snort. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Well, it’s enough. I don’t need entanglements, relationships, whatever you want to call them.”

“Aww, that’s kind of sweet, Romo. Did you hear that, Jake? Me and you, we’re enough for him.” Romo bats his hand away as Lee tries to pinch his cheek.

“Frak off,” he mumbles.

The thing is, it’s the truth. Having Lee’s companionship _is_ enough for him. Or almost enough. He hasn’t examined the ‘almost’ too closely. Pondering that ‘almost’ makes him think he could lose what they’ve got, which is a solid and abiding friendship, something Romo could not have predicted. Romo hasn’t had many friends, and the ones that he did have been gone so long he can barely recall their faces. He's certainly not going to endanger his friendship with Lee based on something as amorphous as an 'almost'.

*

“We’re going to need laws,” Lee says.

They’re cutting thatch for the roof of Lee’s newly-constructed hut. The blisters on Romo’s hands are bleeding, but he doesn’t say anything about it to Lee because Lee, damn him, never complains, and he’s the one up in the tree, doing all the hard work.

“I thought we were leaving that kind of thing behind.” Romo thinks again of his books, burning.

“We left the _old_ laws behind. We’re going to need new ones. Ones that make sense for our lives now. We’re going to need your help with that.” Lee hands down an armful of branches and Romo drops half of them before he gets them added to the pile.

Romo straightens, looking up at Lee, his hands on his hips. Lee makes his way gingerly to another branch. He’s sweating and dirty, but he’s practically glowing. He looks vital and healthy and strong. For all that Romo finds their current way of life a strain, Lee seems to have taken to it remarkably well.

“Are you trying to make me feel better about how utterly hopeless I am at this?” Romo asks.

Lee looks at him in surprise. “At what?”

“ _This_!” Romo gestures around them. “All of it! I’m hopeless, Lee, admit it.”

“You’re not hopeless.” Lee lobs some kind of nut he got out of the tree at him, hitting him squarely in the chest. “It’s just been so long since you haven’t been good at something, that you don’t remember what it feels like.”

“I’ll have you know,” Romo replies, picking up the nut and throwing it back at Lee, missing him by several inches. “That I’ve never not been good at what I do.”

“And you’ll be good at this,” Lee says with certainty, then adds, “Someday. It might take a while. A _looong_ while.” He sniggers. “But I bet before our hair turns gray you’ll – ow!”

It turns out there are lots of those nuts laying around on the ground, which is a lucky thing because Romo has to throw a number of them before he finally hits his mark. A brief but violent nut war ensues, Jake jumping and barking and running circles around Romo, before Lee calls truce and slides down out of the tree. He’s panting and laughing and Romo’s laughing too, at the sheer ridiculousness of what is now his life.

“You should do that more,” Lee says, hands braced on his knees, gasping for breath.

“What?”

“Laugh. I’ve never heard you laugh like that. I don’t remember the last time _I_ laughed like that.”

“It’s been a while since there’s been much to laugh about.” Romo takes a drink from their canteen, hands it to Lee.

“Frak if that’s not the truth. It feels good, though.” Lee drinks and Romo looks away from the long line of his throat as he swallows.

“See, it’s not that bad. This.” Lee gestures around them when Romo gives him a quizzical look. “This place. This life.”

“I suppose,” Romo reluctantly concedes, “as ever afters go, it could be worse.”

Lee nods, then looks at him out of the corner of his eye. His lips twitch. “Could be better too.”

Romo bursts out laughing. “That it could, mate, that it could.” He shakes his head. “Thank gods, at least you’re human.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Romo cocks his head, studying Lee, who just stands, weight on one hip, loose and relaxed, and lets himself be studied. “Sometimes you’re a bit too much of an Adama for my taste.”

Lee appears to think that over, then asks, “What about now?”

Romo takes him in; bare feet, trousers torn off at the knee, chest streaked with dirt and sweat, face flushed, messy hair, long enough now to be tied back into a queue. There are fine lines on his face and sadness in his eyes that will be there for the rest of his life, but he looks younger than Romo has ever seen him. “I think you’re just Lee, at the moment.”

Romo knows that he’s staring, knows, too, that he shouldn’t. They’re standing too close. How did they get that close? Had he taken a step forward? He doesn’t remember doing it.

Around them, everything is still but the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Lee’s watching him carefully as Romo frantically searches for something to say to diffuse the sudden tension, but it’s as if all his words have left him, and that’s not something that’s happened to him often. He can’t seem to look away. He really has to look away, only it’s hard, because it’s _Lee_ and Romo’s never been able to look away from him, not really, not since the day they met. Maybe that’s why Romo once thought he wanted to kill him. Maybe that’s why he didn’t put a bullet in his own brain instead. Maybe that’s why he finds himself here, in this unfamiliar existence that nothing in his life has prepared him for, and still, it’s almost enough.

He wonders if Lee has any idea how terrified he is. He hopes not.

“What am I going to do here, Lee?” Romo asks.

Lee smiles, at once fond and confident. “You’ll find something.”

“I don’t know how to hunt – or farm – or fish. What is there for me to do? I live in my head most of the time, you know that, and there’s no room for people who live in their heads in a place like this.”

Lee takes him by the shoulders, strong grip, solid. Romo doesn’t like it when people touch him, but with Lee, here and now, he does. It feels easy. It feels right.

“You’ll find something, I know you will. I have faith in you.” Lee’s words make Romo frown but they also make his hard, shriveled heart ache just a little. Lee squeezes his shoulders, fingers digging in, just this side of pain. “I’ve _always_ had faith in you.”

And it’s true, he has. Romo kind of hates him for that, or at least he used to try to. Truth is, he’s never been able to hate Lee for more than a couple of minutes at a stretch.

“You’ll be okay,” Lee says. His gaze is so direct, his eyes so clear, so purposeful. “I promise. You’re going to be fine. We all are.”

When his hands move from Romo’s shoulders to his face, it should come as a surprise. The surprise is that it doesn’t.

“Say you believe me,” Lee says. He’s close, so close, and Romo’s heart is pounding against his ribs, and his head is screaming _Run_ and _This is crazy_ and about a thousand other things that he appears to be determined to ignore.

Romo means to say something snide, turn it into a joke so he can shrug it off later as a moment of no consequence at all.

“I believe you,” Romo says. It comes out as a sigh, distressingly sincere.

“Tell me you’ll be fine,” Lee says. His fingers press gently, tilting Romo’s head slightly. The brush of his lips is so soft it could almost be the wind.

“I’ll be fine,” Romo says.

Lee smiles and, gods help him, Romo believes.

  



End file.
